


Transatlantic

by withpractice_ff



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Canon Compliant, Friends to Lovers, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Pen Pals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-16
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:56:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withpractice_ff/pseuds/withpractice_ff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles Edgeworth does have a heart, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Across the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers:** Spoilers for Phoenix Wright's story arc in Apollo Justice; the story assumes you know what happened to Phoenix between GS3 and GS4.

After his disbarment, Phoenix ducks most of his incoming calls, deeply thankful for the invention of Caller ID. It's when his cell phone's screen reports _UNAVAILABLE_ that he answers, assuming this is the phone call he's been waiting for.

"Edgeworth."

It is.

"Hello, Wright," the prosecutor responds hesitantly.

A weighted silence falls between them, making Phoenix shift uncomfortably in his chair, his skin crawling. He can't take much of this, so it's not long before he says, "You've heard the news, I'm sure."

A fair assumption, given that not once in the years they've known each other has Miles Edgeworth ever called Phoenix Wright.

There’s a crackle of static from the other end of the line, then, "Detective Gumshoe has been leaving frantic messages on my voicemail and mailing me newspaper clippings, most of them coffee-stained."

"He's not handling it very well," Phoenix concedes with a bitter mirth.

"How are you handling it?"

Phoenix is taken off guard by the question--not because he hasn't heard it nearly a hundred times in the last week, but because it's coming from Edgeworth. He is tempted to say, in a voice laced with sarcasm, _I didn't know you cared._ Instead, he says, "Surprisingly well."

"I see," Edgeworth says, clearly doubtful. But he doesn't press the issue, instead saying quietly, "You've adopted a child."

"Yeah," Phoenix replies, feeling suddenly bashful. He rakes a nervous hand through his hair and says, "Her name is Trucy. She's eight."

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised, considering it is you we're talking about. But I am. Surprised, that is."

"Me too, honestly," Phoenix says quietly. "I hope I'm doing the right thing."

"Phoenix," Edgeworth says, surprising Phoenix with both the use of his first name and the warmth in his voice. "If anyone is capable of making a loving, supportive home for an orphaned little girl, it is certainly you."

"I-- Thank you," he says, moved by Edgeworth's uncharacteristic sincerity.

Another silence falls between them--although less uncomfortable than the first--and although he feels a powerful desire to stay on the line--even if just to listen to the other man's low, rhythmic breathing--he is very aware that his cell phone plan does not cover long-distance calls.

"I really appreciate the call, Edgeworth. It means a lot to me," he says earnestly, surprised by the lump forming in his throat. He swallows audibly, then says, "But I can't really afford to spend too much time on calls to--" He stops, trying to remember if he has any idea where the other man actually is. "--wherever it is you are."

"Belgium." Another pause, and Phoenix is waiting for what will surely be an awkward goodbye, but Edgeworth says, "I know that you and I have not been exceptionally close--or even friends, a lot of the time--since reentering each other’s lives, but if you need anything at all, I am available."

He gives Phoenix his phone number and email address, adding, "If you don't want to write them down, that's fine, but I hope that you will, and that you'll make use of them." He pauses awkwardly, then says with significantly less confidence, "And if you want, I could come out to California for a while."

"No, no," Phoenix says immediately, feeling his cheeks burn. He gropes for an explanation that doesn't betray the inexplicable terror that suggestion evokes in him, managing a lame, "I don't think that's necessary." 

"Very well," Edgeworth says, and Phoenix is sure he can hear relief in the other man's voice. And it hurts, even though he is equally relieved that Edgeworth isn't pursuing the issue.

Their goodbye is longer than it needs to be, neither party quite sure how to end the conversation. Edgeworth says again that Phoenix should keep in touch, and Phoenix promises that he will, surprised to realize that he probably means it.

And so it is that Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright become penpals, of a sort.


	2. All the Ways I Say It

Edgeworth is not much for talking on the phone, which suits Phoenix just fine, as he can't exactly afford to spend money on hour long phone calls to France, or Germany, or wherever Edgeworth is spending his time this month. So they communicate mostly via email. 

As part of his new, slightly nomadic lifestyle, Edgeworth is never more than about ten feet away from his laptop, and lately he's taken to sending Phoenix these two or three line emails several times a day, whenever something strikes him. When Phoenix checks his email at the library every few days, there will be a handful of these messages waiting for him, sometimes related but usually not, often reading more like a note or reminder that Edgeworth has scribbled on the back of his hand than something intended for an audience. Phoenix feels a bit like an anthropologist, often able to track Edgeworth's mood and train of thought throughout the day by the tone and content of these emails.

When they first started corresponding it was sporadically, rarely more than once or twice a month. What they lacked in frequency, they more than made up for in length--Phoenix particularly--as they played catch-up with each other's lives and had long heart-to-hearts about Phoenix's disbarment and unexpected fatherhood and Edgeworth's growing inability to stay in one place for more than a few weeks at a time.

Conversations they would have never had, Phoenix is sure, if they weren't emboldened by the facelessness of the internet.

Still, he's surprised by how open he's been under this false sense of anonymity, sharing things with Miles that he has not shared even with Maya: his insecurities about being a father; his deep suspicion of Kristoph Gavin and their complicated relationship; his inability to move on from the incident that stripped him of his attorney's badge.

Now that they've gotten all of the heavy lifting out of the way, the majority of their current correspondence is much more conversational, simply keeping each other up-to-date and involved--however peripherally--in each other's lives. Edgeworth has taken to mailing Phoenix a copy of whatever book he's currently reading and then badgering the other man until Phoenix finally relents and reads the damn thing.

It's comfortable--and more than a little surprising--and Phoenix is extremely grateful to have Miles Edgeworth back in his life in this way.

And so it seems natural to end his latest email with, "And also, I miss you."

He stares at the words, not realizing he had intended to type them, but there they are. It's a completely appropriate thing to say to a friend, and yet he feels hesitant to actually send those words to Edgeworth.

It occurs to him that it's kind of strange, that he should miss Edgeworth: this man he's been exchanging life stories and daily pleasantries with is hardly the same Miles Edgeworth he knew in court. If anything, he is more like the boy Phoenix knew all those years ago: sharp witted; passionate; reliable and supportive.

Happy.

Phoenix closes his eyes and hits send. He sits at the computer, compulsively hitting the refresh button for the next ten minutes, waiting for--what? For Edgeworth to make fun of him, to draw away from him, to ignore him altogether.

Muttering a curse, he logs out of the machine.

He manages to stay away from the library for several days. When he does finally sit down at one of their free-use computers, there are six short emails from Edgeworth, and one of them is this:

"If you're interested, I have a round-trip ticket to London with your name on it. Let me know when you're available."

His breath hitches in his throat; such an invitation had not even crossed his mind as a potential response from Edgeworth. His fingers hover over the keyboard, and he vaguely wishes Trucy were here to tell him what to write in reply.

After agonizing over it for nearly fifteen minutes, he writes:

"I'll have to see when Maya can watch Trucy for a few days, but I am potentially available immediately."

He hits send before he can second guess himself.

And so it is that Phoenix Wright finds himself in Miles Edgeworth's holiday rental in London.


	3. One Week of Emails from Miles Edgeworth

**From:** miles.edgeworth@gmail.com  
 **Date:** Sun, Jul 14, 2019  
 **To:** phoenixisright@yahoo.com  
 **Subject:** always scheming

Franziska keeps sending me text messages damning the Blackberry. I surmise she's try to trick me into getting one. I'd also guess that she just got one for herself. Her misery particularly loves company.

  


* * *

  


**From:** miles.edgeworth@gmail.com  
 **Date:** Mon, Jul 15, 2019  
 **To:** phoenixisright@yahoo.com  
 **Subject:** le pâté en croûte de cerise est délicieux

Coming to Paris has been good for sharpening my French-language skills, but I keep forgetting some of the simplest words.

cherry = cerise  
pie = pâté en croûte

  


* * *

  


**From:** miles.edgeworth@gmail.com  
 **Date:** Mon, Jul 15, 2019  
 **To:** phoenixisright@yahoo.com  
 **Subject:** re: always scheming

Yes, a Blackberry is more convenient than carrying a laptop around, but that's the point. I don't want to be that accessible. A Blackberry says, "Please email me with the expectation of an immediate response," while a laptop says, "I have important work that I must do on the go, and therefore I cannot be disturbed."

Which is to say, I discourage you from taking Franziska's side on anything. Ever.

  


* * *

  


**From:** miles.edgeworth@gmail.com  
 **Date:** Mon, Jul 15, 2019  
 **To:** phoenixisright@yahoo.com  
 **Subject:** re: i am 65

How can you be such a grouchy old man when surrounded by so much youth?

Not that I'm unsympathetic, of course; I've long suspected I'm a fifty year old man trapped in a much younger body. I like to think this indicates a wisdom well beyond my years. Try that on Maya the next time she calls you an old fart.

  


* * *

  


**From:** miles.edgeworth@gmail.com  
 **Date:** Tue, Jul 16, 2019  
 **To:** phoenixisright@yahoo.com  
 **Subject:** admittedly my favorite Joyce

Dear Old Fart,

I sent you a copy of American Appetites by Joyce Carol Oates about three weeks ago. Should I assume from your silence that the finely crafted prose of Ms. Oates has left you speechless?

  


* * *

  


**From:** miles.edgeworth@gmail.com  
 **Date:** Tue, Jul 16, 2019  
 **To:** phoenixisright@yahoo.com  
 **Subject:** Bootz is the name of a kitten, not a pharmacy

The one thing I actively miss about America is the abundance of all-purpose pharmacies. What if I need a pair of scissors, some Neosporin, and a birthday card?

  


* * *

  


**From:** miles.edgeworth@gmail.com  
 **Date:** Tue, Jul 16, 2019  
 **To:** phoenixisright@yahoo.com  
 **Subject:** for your information

I'll be in court observing trials all day tomorrow and will likely not have time to write you. Not that you'd notice, not on a Wednesday, but I thought it would be polite to inform you nonetheless.

  


* * *

  


**From:** miles.edgeworth@gmail.com  
 **Date:** Thu, Jul 18, 2019  
 **To:** phoenixisright@yahoo.com  
 **Subject:** re: always scheming

It's not that Franziska's often wrong--although she is--as much as it's that she is incredibly obnoxious in debate.

However, it occurs to me that perhaps the fastest way to win an argument with her would be to tell her that Phoenix Wright agrees with her.

  


* * *

  


**From:** miles.edgeworth@gmail.com  
 **Date:** Thu, Jul 18, 2019  
 **To:** phoenixisright@yahoo.com  
 **Subject:** re: always scheming

What I mean by that is she would feel compelled to reevaluate her position were she to discover you agreed with her.

She thinks you're an idiot, is what I'm saying.

Next time you see her, tell her you see a good deal of merit in the new one-day trial proposal. In addition to being hilarious, consider it a public service.

  


* * *

  


**From:** miles.edgeworth@gmail.com  
 **Date:** Fri, Jul 19, 2019   
**To:** phoenixisright@yahoo.com  
 **Subject:** (none)

I woke up this morning at 4am, my heart racing and the sheets twisted between my legs. I can't fully remember what I'd been dreaming, but I recall flashes of my father's face, so I suppose it's not hard to guess.

It's childish to still be haunted by this, I know. But I was rattled enough that I couldn't get back to sleep. Pess has been whining quietly at my feet since I woke up, sensing my nerves. All this moving around has been hard for her. Franziska has offered to watch after her until I "stop this foolish escapade across Europe and start acting like an adult"--her words, not mine--but I honestly don't think I could get through mornings such as this without Pess to rest her head in my lap.

  


* * *

  


**From:** miles.edgeworth@gmail.com  
 **Date:** Fri, Jul 19, 2019  
 **To:** phoenixisright@yahoo.com  
 **Subject:** the study of law

After writing you this morning, Pess and I went out for a walk. We're staying in the Marais district, which is beautiful and historic. I sat at a cafe, eating a croissant and watching the early morning traffic while Pess sat happily at my feet, tail wagging madly.

It was nice.

I like what my life is right now. Not since before my father died have I been able to just sit down and watch the world around me without worrying about all the other, more important things I should be doing, or what others will think of me, or how every second I waste puts me another second behind. Sitting here now, with nothing on my agenda for today, I cannot imagine how I lived like that for so long.

This trip is, ostensibly, about studying foreign law--learning new things and refamiliarizing myself with the old. And certainly, this trip is about that, and my passion for the law is as strong as ever--stronger, maybe--but it's about more than that, too. This is the first time in my life that I have no one to answer to or please but myself.

It's liberating.

  


* * *

  


**From:** miles.edgeworth@gmail.com  
 **Date:** Fri, Jul 19, 2019  
 **To:** phoenixisright@yahoo.com  
 **Subject:** cirque de sol

Has Trucy ever seen the Cirque de Sol? I have to imagine she'd love it. Keep an eye on your mail for four tickets for next month.

  


* * *

  


**From:** miles.edgeworth@gmail.com  
 **Date:** Sat, Jul 20, 2019  
 **To:** phoenixisright@yahoo.com  
 **Subject:** the coast is not clear

Apparently Dectective Gumshoe has remembered my number. 

  


* * *

  


**From:** miles.edgeworth@gmail.com  
 **Date:** Sun, Jul 21, 2019  
 **To:** phoenixisright@yahoo.com  
 **Subject:** re: the coast is not clear

And he doesn't account for the time difference.


	4. A Reunion

Phoenix got his first passport right before he went to college, feeling idealistic about his future and the possibility of staying in hostels around the world. He never made good on those plans, though--in fact he's never been outside of California.

So he's feeling a little daunted by his upcoming eleven hour flight.

"Is almost a full day's worth of round trip travel worth three days in London?" Maya asks idly, flipping through a magazine.

"I'll let you know when I get back," Phoenix says, trying not to sound defensive. He's holding out his hands rigidly so Trucy can build a cat's cradle around his fingers. He's glad the two of them offered to wait with him at the airport; Trucy's presence always helps to ease his nerves.

"Once I get Troupe Gramarye back together, we're going to go perform in London and Paris, Tokyo... All over!" Trucy says matter-of-factly, her nose scrunched up in concentration.

"Can I come along as your assistant?" Maya asks, still not looking up from her magazine. "I could be the girl you saw in half."

"And I could plunge a sword through your belly!"

"Oh! And you could make me turn into a tiger!"

They go on this way until Phoenix stands up, gently removing the string from his fingers so he might collect his bags. "I should probably get going, I don't know how long it's going to take to get through security."

Trucy holds his hand all the way over to the security checkpoint, and she nearly chokes him when she hugs him goodbye. Phoenix feels a sudden flash of panic: This is the first time since her adoption that they're going to be apart for more than the six hours a day she spends in school.

"I'm going to miss you a lot, Daddy," Trucy says, looking down at her feet.

"I'm going to miss you too, Truce," Phoenix says, swallowing the unexpected lump in his throat. "But I'll be back soon, and you get to have like a week-long sleepover with Maya. Imagine how much Steel Samurai you're about to consume."

Her eyes do light up at the thought, but she can't quite bring herself to smile. She hugs him again quickly, then hurries to stand next to Maya, holding the young woman's hand tightly.

"Have a good trip, Nick," Maya says brightly. "Don't do anything stupid."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he calls back to her over his shoulder.

She shrugs, grinning widely. "I just get nervous sending you out into the wild on your own."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," he mutters, walking through the metal detector

Per Edgeworth's recommendation, Phoenix tries to sleep for the bulk of his flight. With the aide of Tylenol PM and a particularly boring law text from his college years, he is largely successful.

He arrives at Heathrow at 9am local-time feeling only slight jet-lagged. He scans the welcome crowd for Edgeworth, and his eyes pass over the other man twice before identifying him. So unused to seeing Edgeworth in anything other than his typical maroon suit, Phoenix does not immediately recognize his former rival in a pair of dark jeans and an untucked white button-up, his silver hair an inch or three longer than the last time Phoenix saw him, making him look carefully unkempt. He's wearing a subtle smirk, amused by Phoenix's lack of recognition.

"Uh, hey," Phoenix says sheepishly, walking up to Edgeworth.

"Hello, Wright."

They stand there looking at each other awkwardly for a few seconds until Edgeworth rolls his eyes and pulls Phoenix into a short but genuinely warm hug, dissolving the tension between them.

"I don't know if you've heard, but there's this new thing called a barber," Phoenix teases, following Edgeworth through the airport.

"I will not be taking any such advice from a man whose head looks like a deadly weapon, thank you."

They take a cab to Edgeworth's short-term rental--an adorable one bedroom in Soho, whose usual occupant is out of town on business for two months--making easy conversation along the way.

"You can put your stuff in the bedroom," Edgeworth says as they enter the apartment, gesturing to the open doorway off the living room. At Phoenix's slightly quizzical look, Edgeworth adds, "I think it's only polite that the guest get the bed."

"Miles Edgeworth is going to sleep on a pull-out couch?" Phoenix asks, scratching Pess' head when she pads over to greet him.

"I am not made of glass," Edgeworth says in mock offense. "I think I can rough it for a few nights."

Phoenix throws his bag down at the side of the couch. "If you were kind enough to pay for my plane tickets, I think the least I can do is let you sleep in your own bed."

Edgeworth shrugs. "Suit yourself; I'm not going to argue to my own disadvantage."

Having approved of their visitor and the way he scratches behind her ears, Pess moves on to Edgeworth, sniffing at his knees and waving her tail wildly.

"Do you need anything?" Edgeworth asks as he bends down to scratch Pess' cheeks, making her tail wag even harder. "A trip to the bathroom or a glass of water?"

"I could go for some breakfast, actually," Phoenix replies, suddenly realizing that he's starving.

"Alright, why don't we take Pess out for a walk and find something to eat?"

They walk around for about fifteen minutes, falling in and out of conversation comfortably, before stopping at a little outdoor cafe. Edgeworth, having already eaten, sips at a tea while watching Phoenix wolf down his breakfast. Wrapped up in conversation--debating the relative merits of curtailing California's appeals system--they keep ordering one more cup of tea until suddenly it's just before one o'clock and Phoenix is getting hungry again.

"I'm sorry," Edgeworth says, "I'm sure you didn't come all this way to sit in a cafe."

"Edgeworth," Phoenix says kindly. "Shut up."

They take their second meal of the day before heading back to the apartment to drop off Pess, then they wander leisurely around the city. Edgeworth lets Phoenix direct them, and the man leads them in and out of shops, through parks, and around crowded center squares. They stop for dinner at a restaurant more than slightly out of Phoenix's price range, which Edgeworth insists on paying for.

It's fairly early when Phoenix's jet lag starts weighing on him. Back at Edgeworth's apartment, his host puts on a movie and opens a bottle of wine. Phoenix makes it through two sips and fifteen minutes of exposition before he nods off.

He wakes up abruptly to find himself laying on the couch, still fully dressed, covered with a blanket and hugging a pillow. The coffee table has been pulled away, and on the floor next to him are two more blankets, neatly folded, and an extra pillow. There's soft sunlight streaming in through the windows, but that's not what woke him up. He cranes his neck to see into the kitchen, seeking the source of the noises that roused him.

"You're awake," Edgeworth notes, catching sight of movement in the living room. Phoenix makes a sleepy sound of assent. "Your chivalry back-fired, you know. Your snoring chased me into the bedroom well before I was ready to retire."

Phoenix walks over to join him in the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes. "If you can't appreciate the fact that I'm a gentleman, you're welcome to the couch tonight."

They eat a quick breakfast, take Pess for a short walk, then begin on Phoenix's itinerary for the day. In the weeks before Phoenix's arrival, Edgeworth had repeatedly said that they could spend Phoenix's time in London however Phoenix desired, and Phoenix took this--correctly--to mean that Edgeworth wasn't terribly interested in planning entertainment for his guest.

So Phoenix, with Edgeworth's implicit blessing, has mapped out a full schedule for his two full days in London, wanting to miss as little as possible on the likely possibility that he will not be returning any time soon, if ever.

When they return to Edgeworth's apartment after a full day spent at the Tower of London, the Tate Modern, Big Ben and Parliment, and the London Eye, Edgeworth flops onto the couch, grateful to be sitting down.

"I don't think I have ever seen so much of one city in a single day."

"I'm sorry I made you play tour guide today," Phoenix says, feeling slightly guilty.

"Please, Wright. You've never been to London; you deserve to see its sights. Besides, I like having an excuse to play tourist."  


* * *

  
They spend their next day following a similarly packed schedule until about 6pm, when Edgeworth says enough, he needs a solid dinner and, perhaps, a strong pour of whiskey. They go to a pub by the apartment, and dinner and a drink turns into dinner and drinks turns into the two of them stumbling back to the apartment just after midnight, drunk and leaning against each other for support.

Phoenix tumbles through the doorway when Edgeworth lets him in, and he immediately starts rooting around in the drawers of the coffee table.

"What are you doing?" Edgeworth asks, less alarmed than he would be were he sober. "You realize those are not my drawers you're going through."

"I'm looking for cards."

"Cards?" Edgeworth asks, uncomprehending.

"You know, playing cards."

"They're in the kitchen, in the drawer next to the silverware." He pauses, then asks, "And what is it you want playing cards for?"

Already in the kitchen, Phoenix looks at him over the island with raised eyebrows. "We're men, Edgeworth, and men play cards."

"Is that so?" Edgeworth asks with obvious skepticism, but he pushes the couch back, making room for the two of them to sit on the floor on either side of the coffee table. Edgeworth lowers himself gracefully to the floor, pretzeling his legs and leaning against the front of the couch. Phoenix joins him on the opposite side of the table, dropping to the floor with a thud. Edgeworth shakes his head, which Phoenix pretends not to notice.

"You do know how to play poker, right?" Phoenix asks once he's made himself comfortable, shuffling the cards loudly.

"Yes, Wright, I know how to play poker. Have you noticed we don't have any chips?"

Phoenix frowns; he hadn't though of that. Scrunching his brow, he fishes around in his pocket, then deposits a sizable handful of coins onto the table. He looks expectantly at Edgeworth, who makes no move, then asks, "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well where are your coins?"

Edgeworth sighs, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out two pounds. "I don't have any American currency.”

They make do with their random assortment of currencies and get down to business. Edgeworth isn’t much of a gambling man, which becomes evident as Phoenix wins hand after hand.

“You want to borrow some of my chips?” Phoenix asks with mock sympathy, eyeing Edgeworth’s dwindling pile of coins.

"It's like we're in court," Edgeworth mutters, shaking his head.

It's a joke, and Phoenix knows it's a joke, but he suddenly feels uncomfortable and depressed, thinking about facing Edgeworth in the courtroom, and how that will never happen again. Abruptly, he lays his cards down on the table, crosses his arms defensitvely over his chest.

"I think we should call it a night," he says stiffly.

A look of confusion passes over Edgeworth's face, followed quickly by understanding, then concern.

"Phoenix," he says gently. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"I know you didn't," Phoenix interrupts. "I just-- I don't know." He stops, rubbing at his face with the balls of his hands, pressing against his eyes until it hurts. "I just miss being a lawyer."

Miles scoots around to Phoenix's side of the table, putting a comforting hand on his friend's arm.

“You’re an excellent lawyer,” Edgeworth offers.

Phoenix doesn’t acknowledge the rare complement, too wrapped up in feeling sorry for himself. “ _Was_ , until that little thing with the false evidence and all.”

“Phoenix,” Edgeworth says seriously, taking Phoenix by the shoulders. He waits until the former attorney meets his eyes before continuing, “You were framed, and don’t think for a second that we won’t find out the truth and get you reinstated.”

For a moment, hope flickers in Phoenix’s eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly, his gaze dropping down to his lap. “Thanks, Miles, I appreciate you saying that.”

Edgeworth releases him with a sigh, leaning away. “I’m not just saying it, Wright. We’ll get you cleared of this nonsense.”

Edgeworth’s voice is so certain, so full of determined conviction, that Phoenix nearly believes him.  


  


* * *

  
The next day is all frantic packing and rushing to the airport. They only just make it in time--Phoenix had been paranoid about accidentally leaving anything behind, and he’d done five full passes around the small apartment before he’d agreed to leave--and Phoenix gives Edgeworth half a hug over the stickshift before jumping out of the car.

“Thanks again,” Phoenix says, pausing to duck back into the car when he remembers his manners. “For everything. It was really great to see you.”

Edgeworth smiles. “The pleasure was mine. See you soon, Phoenix.”

Phoenix nods and makes a run for the security check. It’s not until he’s fastening his seat belt and putting his tray table into the upright position that it occurs to him that Edgeworth said _see you soon_ , casually, like he actually might. Phoenix finds himself smiling a little, in spite of himself.

And so it is that Phoenix Wright becomes a frequent flier.


End file.
